


5 Times Viktor Felt Abandoned (and the one time he didn't)

by mewgirl1995



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Arguing, M/M, Parental Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewgirl1995/pseuds/mewgirl1995
Summary: "You made me think that this wasn't going to end this way." Viktor laughed and rubbed the tears away. "But I'm cursed right? No one in their right mind would stay with me huh?"Abandonment is a very honest word that describes what many people face throughout their lives. Viktor felt abandoned at least five times in his life, ranging from childhood to adolescence to adulthood.





	

1.

The picture sat on the mantle. It was tucked near the back, but always in sight if you gazed long enough. At just five years old, Viktor barely understood the significance behind the small golden framed photograph. He stood on his tip-toes and stared at it. The photo showed a pair of people. Standing before a huge ice skating rink was a woman with long silver hair and bright blues eyes. At her side was a man with dark, dirty blonde hair and equally bright blue eyes. They both held up shining gold medals and had their arms around one another's waists. Viktor thought they looked happy together. He wanted to look happy like them too.  

One morning, his mother caught him staring at the photo. She laughed and ruffled his hair. "I'm not as pretty as back then, huh?" She said to which her son furiously shook his head.  

"You're still beautiful Mama!" He said. Then his eyes turned back to the photo. "But I was wondering who is that." He pointed at the male figure skater. His mother sighed and stroked Viktor's hair. When her eyes became sad, Viktor quickly asked, "What is it?"  

"That's your Papa," Mama said as she scooped Viktor up into her arms. Viktor furrowed his brow and stared at the photo. The man's eyes definitely matched Viktor's, but everything else about him was unfamiliar.  

"Where is he now?" Viktor asked, reaching out to touch the face he had only ever seen on the mantle place.  

Mama stiffened, and she sighed, stroking Viktor's hair as she pulled away from the fireplace. "Gone," She said.  

Like all children, Viktor was very keen on asking, "Why?"  

Trembling a bit, Mama set Viktor down on the table. He stared up at her with wide, curious eyes. "Because he died," Mama said, voice hard and eyes downcast.  

"Died?" Viktor tilted his head to one side.  

The frustration was clear on Mama's face. "When someone, a person or animal, dies they go somewhere and never come back."  

"Why?" Viktor asked, hurt apparent in his voice. "Did he not like me? Is that why he left?"  

"No, no, no," Mama said quickly, hands cupping Viktor's cheeks as the tears slid down from his eyes. "There was an accident. Papa got hurt when he was coming to see me, and then he died."  

"Why wasn't he more careful?" Viktor asked. The tears poured from his face. He knew that most children knew their fathers. He knew they didn't leave and never return. If his father really wanted to meet him, then he would have been more careful.  

"Oh _mon_ _ange_ ," Mama said and hugged him close. "You'll understand better when you're older."  

The words didn't alleviate the anguish Viktor felt. He stared back towards the photograph and sobbed into his mother's shoulder. His mother continued to stroke his hair until he stopped sobbing and then scooped him into her arms. "I wish he didn't abandon us," Viktor whispered. Mama gasped and raised a hand to her mouth as a few tears slipped from her eyes.  

 

2.

Holding the gold medal tight in his hands, Viktor followed Yakov down the long hallways of the bustling, white building. He saw the sympathetic stares from various nurses, but ignored them and kept his head held high. At just thirteen years old, he had just won the Cup of Mordovia in the Junior Grand Prix series. They turned into one of the hospital rooms and Viktor hurried over to the woman lying in bed. "Mama!" He said, holding his medal out to her. "I won for you." Her silver hair was short and thin. It barely stretched down to her shoulders, unlike long ago when it was just as long as Viktor's. She coughed and smiled, running a hand through Viktor's long silver hair.  

"I'm so proud of you _mon_ _oisillon_ ," Mama said. "Soon you'll be winning at the Olympics." Viktor's eyes followed the IV in his mother's arm up to the bag of fluids. She coughed and wheezed, placing a hand over her chest.  

"You'll be there to watch me right?" Viktor asked. He grasped his mother's hand and held it tight against his chest.  

Nodding, Mama said, "I will. I'll be better soon Vitya." The words stung because Viktor knew they were a blatant lie. He stared down at the floor, eyes burning.  

"Renée," Yakov said quietly. "How are you?" He stood at Mama's other side with a firm hand on her shoulder. "You've been resting enough right?"  

"You always worry Yakov," Mama said with a light laugh. Viktor peeked back up at her. She looked paler than the last time they visited. "Vitya is behaving himself right?" Viktor lowered his eyes again.  

"No," Yakov grumbled. "But it's fine." Viktor silently thanked him for not telling his mother the details of the fit he threw the other night. Mama nodded and leaned back against her pillows. "All the paperwork went through." Yakov shifted and sighed. Earlier that week Viktor pretended not to see the paperwork sitting on Yakov's counter. He pretended not to read the words, "Non-Parent Custody Petition." It was not like his mother to plan far ahead in the future so Viktor tried not to think about why the paperwork was there. Viktor looked up again, hair falling into his face. Mama turned to smile at him, but it was weak. She coughed again and when she pulled her hand away, Viktor saw the dark spatters of blood. "I'll go get the doctor." Yakov hurried off into the hallway.  

Rushing over to Mama's side, Viktor grabbed her hand. He shook as he grasped it tight. "Don't die," He whispered, tears filling his eyes. With a small shake of her head, Mama leaned back against her pillows. "Don't leave me."  

"Yakov would tell you I was never very good at listening," Mama said, eyes sliding shut. "I'm sorry _mon_ _oisillon_."  

"No, no, no!" Viktor was holding so tight his hands ached.  

"Become a champion for me alright?" With those words slipping from her slips, Mama went still. The machine started to screech, and Viktor let out a cry of agony. The tears poured down his face, and he brought his mother's hand up to his eyes, sobbing into it.  

The nurses gently pulled Viktor away as they surrounded his mother, desperately trying to save her, but Viktor knew it was too late. He clung to Yakov, burying his face in his coach's jacket. Yakov patted his back and stared down at him with pity in his eyes. "Why does everyone leave me?" Viktor whimpered. "Am I cursed?"  

Instead of replying, Yakov leaned down and hugged Viktor tight.  

 

 **Beloved Figure Skating Champion Ren** **ée** **Nikiforova** **Dead**  

Late Monday night Renée Nikiforova, the first woman to perform a quadruple jump, died at St. Petersburg General Hospital. A severe infection of pneumonia complicated by Nikiforova's multiple sclerosis killed her. She leaves behind her thirteen-year-old son Viktor Nikiforov, whose father is unknown. He was left in the care of Yakov Feltsman, Nikiforova's former coach, and Nikiforov's current one. At this time, the family asks to be left alone to grieve. The figure skating community is doing its own grieving tonight. Memorials have already grown to large sizes in both St. Petersburg and Moscow.  

  

3.

With a hat pulled tight over his ears and a scarf wrapped around his neck, Viktor strolled through the streets of St. Petersburg. He smiled at the few fans who recognized him but tried to hurry along. After winning the Junior World Championships, he felt an extra spring in his step. At just sixteen years old Viktor found himself at the top of the skating world. "I did it," He said aloud. "I'm a champion Mama." Makkachin leapt along in front of him, barking at squirrels that crossed their path. The dog was a gift from Yakov for his fourteenth birthday, his first one without Mama. It had been a huge surprise, since a few weeks earlier Yakov swore no dog would ever step foot in his house and Viktor locked himself in his room and refused to come out for several days. Humming to himself, Viktor smiled.  

The smile fell from his face as his eyes caught sight of a magazine. A blaring red title flashed across the top, reading, "Yakov Feltsman: Retirement Rumors?" Feeling cold, Viktor stumbled and then turned, dragging Makkachin over to the stand. Surely, his coach would tell him if he was planning to retire. With a fake smile, Viktor purchased the magazine and rushed away, flipping through the pages as panic rose in him.  

He caught sight of discussions of how most coaches could never dream of achieving what Yakov had and how there was nothing left for him to do. He had already coached multiple champions, so what was the point of continuing on? The words burrowed their way into Viktor's chest and he found that he couldn't breathe right anymore. It was suddenly too cold and his hands shook. Tugging on Makkachin's leash again, Viktor hurried his walking pace. It had to be fake. Viktor knew from first hand experience that tabloid magazines weren't honest sources of information, but the dread rose up in him anyway. As he hurried along, Viktor broke into a run. Makkachin looked up at him, tongue lolling to one side.  

 _Am I cursed?_  The thought resurfaced in Viktor's mind as he raced up the stairs to the house and fumbled with the key. _Why does everyone leave me?_  Pushing open the door, Viktor didn't even bother pulling off his coat, hat, or scarf. He dropped Makkachin's leash, slammed the door shut, and rushed into the kitchen, sliding from the melted snow under his boots. Yakov sat at the counter, drinking coffee. "Viktor," He said with a stern look. "You're getting mud and snow everywhere, go take off your shoes and coat."  

"Is it true?" Viktor asked, gasping from racing across St. Petersburg.  

"What?" Yakov asked.  

Frustration and anger welled up in Viktor as he stomped over to his coach and threw the magazine down. "This! Is this true? Are you going to retire?"  

Yakov stared down at the tabloid magazine with a look of irritation. "That's ridiculous," He said. "You know better than to believe stupid rumors."  

"Rumors?" Viktor exclaimed, voice growing high in panic. "Rumors always have some grain of truth!"  

"No they don't," Yakov grumbled, pushing the magazine away. Clenching his hands tight, Viktor shoved the magazine back.  

"Why does the world think this then?" He demanded.  

"Maybe because I'm old," Yakov said with a wry grin.  

Anger blossomed in Viktor. "This isn't funny!" He whirled around and rushed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He threw himself onto the bed and buried his face in his pillow. It became apparent to him that the whole world must have decided that Viktor Nikiforov would be abandoned by everyone. His parents had already left him, so now they were speculating about the departure of his coach. It wouldn't be long until that happened too. Then what would Viktor do? Where would he go? There would be no one left in the world for him.  

The door creaked open, and Viktor heard heavy footsteps. The bed creaked as Yakov sat down beside him. "Vitya," He said softly, placing a firm hand on Viktor's back. "I'm not going to retire. I'm not leaving you."  

Despite Yakov's assurances, Viktor still felt panicked. He knew that it wasn't true. He knew that eventually, everyone left him. He was cursed that way, and Yakov was no different.  

 

4.

With a sigh, Viktor lounged back on the beach, hair tied up in a pony tail. Makkachin laid beside him, snoozing in the sun. "It's too hot," Viktor whined, running a hand through the dog's curls. He laid back on the towel and stared upwards, listening to the laughter of children as they placed in the ocean.  

A few moments later, a face peeked down at him. "Viktor?" The woman asked in surprise. It took a few moments for Viktor to recognize the freckled face and red hair.  

"Ah! Katrina!" He sat up quickly, almost bumping into her face. "You're back in St. Petersberg!"  

It had been a sad day when Katrina and her family left for Moscow. Viktor hugged his friend tight and waved goodbye as his mother stroked his hair and smiled down at him. "It's so nice to see you again. Your hair's still really long!" Katrina said. Her greens eyes sparkled with excitement. "I heard you're a champion figure skater these days."  

With a slight blush, Viktor nodded. He played with his hair and stood, bowing a bit. "European World Champion." His childhood friend giggled, bringing a small smile to his face.  

"I heard about your mother," Katrina said. "I'm sorry."  

Viktor drew in a sharp breath and continued to smile, though it was fake. "Thank you."  

Awkward silence fell between the pair as Katrina shuffled her feet. She looked down at Makkachin and knelt, rubbing the dog's ears. "It must be cool to be a celebrity," She told Viktor, and for some reason, the words struck a nerve.  

"I'm still the same Viktor you knew," He said a little sharply. "Nothing's changed."  

With a laugh, Katrina stood back up and tilted her head a bit to one side. That mannerism appeared unchanged since their childhood. "No way," She said. "You must hang out with such cool people all the time. I bet none of us even stand a chance." She shuffled her feet in the sand. "I wouldn't even know what to talk about with you. I haven't traveled the world or met so many amazing people." As Viktor's smile fell away, Katrina didn't notice and kept talking, "I don't think any of our old friends have accomplished so much as you."  

It was like Katrina had pushed Viktor up onto some imaginary pedestal. He sighed and twirled his ponytail around in his hand. "That's not true."  

"Don't be so modest," Katrina said. "Oh! By the way, my sister's a huge fan of yours." She dug around in her bag and pulled out a small notepad.  

With a fake smile, Viktor took it and the pen. "Anna right?" As Katrina nodded, Viktor scrawled a kind, unsentimental note and signed with his looping signature. "It was nice seeing you again," Viktor lied as he handed the notebook back.  

"Good luck in your competitions!" Katrina turned and hurried away, unaware of how lonely she made Viktor feel. 

Viktor sat back down beside Makkachin and buried his face in his knees. "I was going to ask her if she wanted to hang out," He said mournfully. Makakchin raised his head and licked Viktor's hands. "I should have known it would be pointless." No wonder none of his friends wanted to hang out with him anymore. They all thought the same things as Katrina. It was lonely knowing that he was no longer the same boy that grew up in St. Petersburg.  

When Viktor got home, he snatched up a pair of scissors and looped his ponytail off, watching with cold indifference as it fell to floor. According to everyone around him, he was no longer that Viktor.  

 

5.

"After the final, let's end this." 

Staring in complete shock back at Yuuri, Viktor felt himself beginning to tremble. "Huh?" He said, eyes wide from a mixture of shock and fear. 

Yuuri stared more at the floor than at Viktor as he said, "You've done more than enough for me, Viktor." He raised his eyes, but his expression remained neutral. "Thanks to you, I was able to give everything I had to my last season." He bowed, black hair falling around his face. "Thank you for everything, Viktor. Thank you for being my coach." As he spoke, Viktor felt the tears gathering in his eyes. Hot anger spread through him as the first one fell. How could Yuuri do this to him? He trusted him. He trusted that Yuuri would never leave him. He thought they would be together forever. One of the tears fell, followed by another and then another. "Viktor?" Yuuri said softly. 

"Damn, I didn't expect Katsuki Yuuri to be such a selfish person," Viktor said. The words felt raw and wrong in his mouth.  

"Right," Yuuri said, and the admission stung. "I made this selfish decision on my own. I'm retiring."  

Eyes widening, Viktor flinched, and more tears rushed down his face. He felt Yuuri reach out and brush his hair aside. "What are you doing, Yuuri?" He snapped. 

"Oh, I'm just surprised to see you cry." Yuuri's words were callous, and they stung more than his previous ones.   

Slapping his hand away, Viktor said, "I'm mad okay?" 

"You're the one who said it was only until the Grand Prix Final!" Yuuri said quickly.  

Perhaps Viktor had said that, but he wondered if the reason why was so he could prepare himself for Yuuri's inevitable departure. Shifting, Viktor clenched his fists. Everything had been going perfectly. He stared down at the traitorous ring on his right finger. "I thought you needed my help more." Fury burned through Viktor. "Aren't you going to make a comeback?" 

"You don't have to worry about me-" 

"How can you tell me to return to the ice when you're retiring?" Viktor cried out, grasping Yuuri's shoulder tight. He trembled as Yuuri stared back in shock. "I thought you said I was the first thing you wanted to hold onto." Yuuri lowered his eyes and bit his lip.  

"Maybe we should make our decisions tomorrow, after the free skate." Yuuri placed his hand on Viktor's, who ripped his hand away before standing and walking back over to the bathroom. "Viktor?"  

Ignoring Yuuri, Viktor slammed the door shut. The tears were still dripping from his eyes. He slid to the ground and stared at the ring on his right hand. It shimmered it the light. "You betrayed me," Viktor told the ring. "You made me think that this wasn't going to end this way." He laughed and rubbed the tears away. "But I'm cursed, right? No one in their right mind would stay with me huh?" Moving to remove the ring, Viktor paused and pulled his hand away, running it through his hair instead and sighing in frustration. He sat on the floor for a long time before he could bear to open the door again. The lights were off, and Yuuri was laying on the far side of the bed.  

Rather than sleeping, Viktor laid in bed preparing himself for the inevitable goodbye that the next day would bring.  

 

+1 

When Viktor woke up, he reached out to hug Yuuri but only felt the residual warmth from his fiancé's body. "Yuuri?" Viktor called, raising his head groggily. The thoughts immediately began to pour into his mind. Yuuri had left him. On their first night living together, Yuuri had abandoned him. "Yuuri?" Viktor called a little more loudly.  

"In the kitchen!" Yuuri called back, and Viktor sighed in relief. He stood, stretched, and then walked into the kitchen, yawning. Yuuri stared back with a small, shy smile. "I woke up early to make breakfast." He gestured to the plates full of pancakes. Many of them were vaguely poodle shaped.  

"Is this a poodle?" Viktor asked pointing to the hideous monstrosities.  

Blushing, Yuuri nodded. "I messed most of them up when I flipped them, but they should still taste good."  

Viktor stepped around the island and walked over to Yuuri, holding open his arms. Yuuri hurried forward and hugged him tightly. "I love it!" Viktor said. He squeezed gently. "Thank you so much, Yuuri."  

"It's just pancakes Viktor," Yuuri said with a laugh. "You've done so much more for me." 

"It's not just pancakes," Viktor whispered, pressing a kiss on the side of Yuuri's head. He reached up and stroked his hair, sighing happily as Yuuri melted into him. "It's far more than that."  

It's the fact that Yuuri hadn't left in the middle of the night. It's the fact that Yuuri cared so much that he would wake up early, even though he hated mornings, just to make Viktor breakfast for their first morning together. Yuuri meant it when he said he wanted to hold onto Viktor. What happened in Barcelona was a mistake and Viktor understood that. He knew that Yuuri worried just as much about not being good enough. He held Yuuri tight, nuzzling his hair into his hair. "I love you," Yuuri whispered, tightening his grip around Viktor.  

"I love you too," Viktor whispered back before pulling away and grinning. "Let's eat those poodle pancakes! Makkachin can have one too if he behaves!" Yuuri smiled and pulled Viktor close to press a gentle kiss on his lips.  

"Okay," He said, eyes glowing with excitement. "Then you'll show me around St. Petersburg?"  

"Anything for you, my love," Viktor replied as he took Yuuri's hand and kissed the back of it. "As long as you're by my side." 

"I always will be," Yuuri promised, making Viktor's heart flutter. He knew it was the truth. There was earnestness in Yuuri's shining brown eyes. He smiled back at Viktor. "Let's stay close together, Viktor." Peeking over at the fire place, Viktor saw the photo on the mantle. Yuuri held his silver Grand Prix medal and shyly smiled while Viktor stood next to him, both arms wrapped around his waist and grinning enough for many people. They looked happy together. 

  

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE 3/27/17: Correct some minor grammar and phrasing issues.


End file.
